


you let me know there's nothing in this world i can't do

by r1ker



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8595985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker





	

That night Oswald's roaming the halls of the mayor's mansion, alternating between shivering from the damp cold that's penetrated the baseboards beneath his feet and straining his ears to hear the music Ed's chosen to blare in his time of mourning. And by time of mourning, Oswald hesitates to call it overreacting. For one he doesn't want to offend Ed by implying that the fact that they knew each other only a week meant absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things.

 

Reservations aside Oswald takes a few seconds and stands in the doorway to the sitting room where Ed's taken up shop. The music's died down a little from when he was further back in the house, and the record on its turntable wheedles slightly as it nears the end of its track listing. Soon the note die down into a horrid warble and, with an irritated shove, Ed forces the record away from the needle, and makes no move to place another. "I know it's late."

 

"I wasn't going to say anything," Oswald immediately replies, ignoring the fact that Ed's statement wasn't out of malice, but genuine exhaustion. "Only that it's enough. Go to sleep." When Ed doesn't respond Oswald steps closer, house shoes whispering against the ornate rugs he passes over. He does shrug further down into the armchair he's in and doesn't notice Oswald's hand resting just over where his shoulder leans against the arm. "No use in exhausting yourself when you know better. If they've got anything to tell you about her it'll come tomorrow, not at eleven at night."

 

Oswald's surprised when Ed nods in ascension to that observation. So he ups the ante a tad. "That guest bedroom in the back has your name on it if you're so inclined." When Ed looks up at him with the utmost weariness Oswald dares to change it to the master bedroom. Hair falls into his eyes as he nods, accepting the invitation. "I'll have Olga put on fresh sheets." When he starts to walk away from Ed's chair he's stopped by a gentle but persistent hand wrapping around his wrist.

 

"If it's at all easier," Ed suggests, "you wouldn't mind sharing your room just for tonight, would you?" Immediately Oswald bites back the lascivious grin he wants so badly to let spread across his face. He softens it and nods just like Ed had done moments before. Both of them trek down the hall and Oswald leaves Ed to stand in the center of the bedroom as he readies himself for bed. He goes along with the guise that Ed will be taking the best end of the bedroom floor, and grabs as many blankets and pillows he can hold in both hands from the linen closet adjacent to the master bathroom.

 

The click of the lights turning off is loud. Both of them hover in silence in their respective resting spots, Oswald within the nest of sheets on his bed, Ed neatly sheathed by every kind of woven blanket on the floor. His tradition for niceties doesn't evade him as he ponders the concept of having Ed on the cold ground. "Are you alright down there? I'd be more than happy to switch positions with you." By the way he doesn't get an answer to that he thinks Ed's already fallen asleep.

 

"Plenty of room in this bed, I don't see why you just don't take the other half of it," he mutters mostly to himself. When he finishes griping to himself why Ed won't advance on the undisclosed desires he's stunned when the other half of the bed sinks with the weight of another person, someone not quite roused from sleep well enough to be coordinated as they settle on top of mounds of pillows and blankets. Oswald can smell Ed, knows well the heady scent of his cologne from those few precious moments they spent embracing in triumph or silent pleasure.

 

There are a few soft noises as Ed resettles himself, knees brushing against Oswald's, before finally he slips into sleep, breathing evening out but rising at times. For once in Oswald's life snoring is nowhere near aggravating him. He inches closer a little without disturbing the way Ed's feet mindlessly huddle against his for warmth in the drafty house.

 

In the night they tangle in each other in a way that's almost admirably complicated. Oswald wakes up once, in the earliest hours of the morning where the sun is nothing but an orange streak beneath his black curtains, and feels someone's belly against his, slow and even inhales and exhales hypnotic against the silence. Ed's chin is tucked against his temple and two gangly arms hold onto Oswald for dear life. Oswald gives into his temptations as much as he can without waking Ed up, a speculative hand at his bare, freckled shoulder. In the back of his throat Ed makes a noise without cohesion and presses himself closer.

 

"What time is it," gets asked, muffled, into the sleeve of Oswald's nightshirt. From where his arms are looped around Ed he glances at his wristwatch and sees the time of just daybreak, barely five.

 

"Early enough for you to go back to sleep," Oswald whispers equally as quietly. He doesn't mention that he and Ed happen to be more than companionably close. Ed probably wouldn't retain it, in his woozy, half-awake state. From what Oswald can tell Ed's already fallen asleep later on as the sun begins to rise and makes sure Oswald won't be able to do the same. But he can't, he won't shake the feeling of Ed so close to him off for his own good, to start his day the same he has for weeks before, alone.

 

At once he begins to count the pinpricks in the tiles composing the ceiling. He makes it to somewhere around 140 when Ed stirs again in his arms, a little more roused at this later hour, and tilts his face to Oswald's, who's looking down on reflex. Their noses are already brushing this close together so, seemingly at the same time, they both decide to up the ante. Their lips slide together imperceptibly, so much so that Oswald doubts they've even kissed until he hears the soft sound they make when they both part. Oswald huffs a laugh when he looks at Ed, squinting against the meek sunlight beginning to pour into the room with vision obscured without glasses.

 

"You are very, very close to me," Oswald reminds before kissing him again. Ed's hand goes to the back of his head, where his rumpled hair curls around the shell of his ear, pulling just enough to let Oswald fall on top of him. In what feels like seconds but could have taken hours for they had no way of keeping track of time, he and Oswald are chest to chest, bare skin warm from the sheets and hands sliding beneath the sheets. Here they could do whatever they pleased, the mayor and his chief of staff, both of them endowed with great responsibility that shouldn't start before eight in the morning. And, when Oswald finally surfaces to strain his neck and look at the grandfather clock at the furthest end of his suite, it's just turning 7:30. When the minute hand lands on the six Ed pulls at him again, kisses him open-mouthed this time. Oswald's heart is racing, the sudden perception of minutes and hours, this person he has wanted for so long below him, willing and pliable, rapt and voracious with eyes having foregone their color for consuming pitch.

 

For the next 29 minutes, Oswald won't belong to all of the citizens of Gotham, just this one.


End file.
